


Is This Regret I'm Feeling?

by foodie2468



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodie2468/pseuds/foodie2468
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a World Cup match, Abby Wambach is faced with a second of reflection about the past and the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Regret I'm Feeling?

Abby let out a heavy breath as she clambered to her knees. A wiry blade of grass stuck to her cheek, and she batted at it as her eyes tracked the ball soaring through the air, back toward centerfield. Norway was already planning their counterattack, midfielders passing the ball back and forth as their forwards crept toward the goalbox. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Alex galloping alongside a marking defender, a pinched grimace on her face at the missed opportunity. Planting a palm on her knee, Abby heaved herself to her feet, flicking an errant short lock off her sweaty forehead. Pinoe’s corner had been perfectly placed, but the header ricocheted off the crossbar and directly to a Norwegian defender.

The tall forward began to jog in the direction of the action, tired legs silently protesting at the movement. It’d been a long match. Tied at 0 and with the clock running out, there wasn’t much time to make a play. It’d been a rough and tumble match, the ref letting the women play on with very few whistles. She could see Carli jockeying with her counterpart, fighting for the ball. Hands grappled at shirts and cleats clipped ankles. Carli dropped for a tackle, but the ball spun out to a sprinting opponent. 

Picking up the pace, ignoring the protests her body was clearly shouting at her, she frowned as the ball skirted past Buehler. 

The defense collapsed. 

Someone made a mistake. 

The ball rolled into the top of the box. 

A lone Norwegian forward had gotten loose and was bearing down on the ball. 

Hope was sprinting out, eyes on the ball. 

It was a race. Whoever got there first would win. The shot was too open, the goal too wide for Hope to make a save if she was beaten. 

All Abby could do was watch the scene unfold, praying for her keeper, for the woman she felt more confidence in than anyone, even herself, to get there first. 

“Come on, you got this.” 

Hope was a half step too slow. 

Norway got there first, a pounding strike sending the ball hurtling toward the net. 

And like a flying superhero angel, Hope flung her body into the air. 

A roar filled the stadium as the ball bounced off her outstretched arm. 

The play wasn’t over, though. 

Out of nowhere, another forward barreled into the fray. 

Hope didn’t miss a beat, scrambling across the grass and diving onto the ball. 

Her hands covered the slippery globe the second Norway got there. 

The red clad player tumbled over Hope, cleats digging into the green jersey, and flopped to the ground, immediately clutching at her ankle. 

Abby felt the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding rush out in a long stream of relief. The tension in the crowd erupted at the spectacle. Fans cheered at the brilliant save. Chants could be heard faintly as the blur of people jumped and danced. Abby allowed a small smile and triumphant fist pump, preparing for the ball to be kicked up to her and Alex. This was their game, now. 

This was their Cup. 

Except, the kick didn’t come. 

It took a moment for the lull to sink in. 

Why wasn’t the ball coming? 

Confusion wrinkled her forehead. 

Squinting in a vain attempt to use her non-existent binocular vision, Abby’s blood froze. 

Hope was still on the ground. 

Hope wasn’t getting up. 

Why wasn’t Hope getting up? 

“Get up.” Abby mumbled, “Come on, Hope. Get up. Let’s go.” 

Nothing. 

Ice dripped down her spine. 

“Shit.” She didn’t even know her feet were moving until she was halfway across the field. Hope needed to get up. Needed to keep playing. 

She was fine. 

She wasn’t hurt. 

She couldn’t be hurt. 

Abby mentally shook her head. Hope was only taking a breather. Allowing the defense to catch their breath after that play. She didn’t allow her mind to settle on the fact that Hope would never take a breather, especially this close to the whistle in a quarterfinal match. Natural instinct started to take over. She fell back on familiar reactions. The itch to yell tickled the back of her throat. Spew out some random inspirational noise. That’s what she did. She was a leader. She got her team focused and confident in their hunger for a medal. Abby just had to get Hope moving, get them all moving again with a well timed shout. Do what she did best and pump them up with her own enthusiasm. 

As the seconds passed, the glacial numbness overtook the sputtering internal crowing. 

The ref hovered over the fallen brunette, bent over and asking questions. Christie stooped next to Hope, a hand on her side. Abby could see the worry on her face. 

Her throat threatened to close up at the sight. 

Heart thumping wildly, Abby sprinted. Words caught in her tightened throat. She wanted to shout, but her normally loud booming voice had left her. Disappeared. Thoughts rumbled in her head, twisting and turning into a chaotic mess of emotion that left her nervous and worried beyond belief. 

She had to get to Hope. 

She nearly tripped to the ground as two hands snatched her, arms circling around her abdomen. 

“Let me go!” heels dug into the earth as she desperately fought against the hold. “Jesus Christ, let me go!” 

Didn’t this person see that Hope needed her? Look at Christie’s face! Hope was on the ground. She was on the damn ground! Abby had to get over there. Had to protect her. Make it better. Fix it. That’s what she did. Hope always made fun of her goofy tendency to be the hero, but Abby knew she secretly liked that there was a strong body to lean on. Hope could handle herself, but with Abby she didn’t always have to. With Abby, she didn’t have to be rock solid 100% of the time. 

Hope sometimes forgot that, but Abby never did. 

“Stop.” Carli’s stern order only caused her to fight harder, “Damn it, Abby, stop.” She slid in front of her, frame blocking the taller woman from going any farther. Her flattened hands poked into the surging striker’s stomach. 

“Get your hands off me, Lloyd.” Abby was like a bull trapped in a cage, restless to rush out. Stampede over and push everyone away until it was just her and Hope. 

She’d give an extra hard shove to the Norwegian now walking away from the scene of the crash. 

“What are you going to do?” 

Whatever she had to, “Hope…” 

“Is being taken care of.” Carli’s grip flexed. 

Didn’t Carli understand, “She…” 

“Abby, she’s being taken care of.” Carli repeated, a tone in her words causing Abby to blink. Breathing harshly, Abby’s throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly. The haze that had fallen over her cloudy mind slowly lifted, allowing her to fully see what was in front of her. 

Hope was sitting up, pain etched on her usually fierce features. She was hunched over, favoring her shoulder as one gloved hand cradled it. The trainers were jogging onto the field, and Christie was standing guard, the rest of the defense plus Tobin forming a protective circle around their fallen comrade. 

Abby focused on Hope’s face. The hypnotizing blue eyes were now glossed over with pain. Beads of sweat dotted her hairline and dripped down her face. A smudge of dirt marred her cheek. 

Every bit the sexy determined warrior the media portrayed her to be. 

Wait. 

The realization struck her like a kick to the face. 

Oh god, Hope was holding her shoulder. _The shoulder_. A bolt of fear ripped into Abby. Punched her in the gut. 

Her legs itched to run. To get over there and clear the entire goal box out. Hope needed space, room to breathe. Hope always needed a moment to herself when she was hurt. A second away from prying eyes to collect herself. Put up that impenetrable wall and work herself back up to face the world. Didn’t those people know that? She was being crowded. Standing around her wasn’t helping. 

Abby knew that. 

Abby knew Hope. 

As if appearing out of thin air, Kelley O’Hara’s concerned face popped up next to Hope’s. Her hand gently massaged the back of Hope’s neck as she knelt down beside her. 

Kelley. 

“I need to be over there.” Fell from Abby’s lips, but the bite was gone, replaced with hallow numbness. The syllables floated around her ears like she was underwater. 

Overwhelming fatigue weighed down her limbs, and she faltered. 

Carli’s voice was surprisingly quiet, but there was a thin thread of steel, “No, you don’t.” 

The words reverberated in Abby’s head as she watched her two teammates whisper to each other. Kelley tenderly brushed a strand of hair back behind Hope’s ear, lightly touching her jaw as the team trainer inspected Hope’s shoulder. The defender sent a scathing glare at the Norway huddle, a huddle she’d blatantly torn through to get over there, before turning her attention back to the older woman. 

Her legs wobbled as it hit her. 

What was she doing? 

Hope wasn’t hers. Hadn’t been since…since they were young and naïve enough to believe they would win their first world cup together as young up and comers and not as ageing vets potentially playing in their final Cup. A bitter snort churned in her belly. She didn’t notice Carli letting her go, shooting her one last warning glance before jogging over to the white clad circular wall. Abby stayed where she was. Alex ambled over to her, a question in her eyes that Abby ignored. There would be a lot of questions after this. Some from her younger teammates. Some from the media, because it was the great Hope Solo and the star Abby Wambach would know what was wrong…and why she ran faster than she had in years only to be held back. People would wonder. Gossip. What was Abby doing? Was Hope faking it for the drama and attention? Now what? 

It didn’t matter at that moment. Abby didn’t care about what Alex was thinking or what ESPN commentators were probably chirping about as the cameras zoomed in on the two vets. She didn’t even think about Sarah, who was watching from the stands with her family. 

None of it mattered because Abby was by herself, head drooping and limbs dangling, as Hope Solo stood up, Kelley O’Hara subtly palming her lower back in support in a way Abby did once upon a time. 

No, Hope wasn’t hers. 

She was Kelley’s. 

Maybe years ago Abby’s place was at Hope’s side, checking her for injuries and soothing her aches and bruises. It was her place to worry and fuss. To sprint across a field of grass to be at the brunette’s side at the slightest hint of unhappiness or frustration. Armed with a grin and looping arm, she would get Hope’s mind off whatever was troubling her. 

If the forward was honest with herself, she never did get to do that. Never was needed to do anything more than toss over an icepack or help rub down a tired foot. That’s all Hope really allowed, not letting her pain be known by anyone. Abby saw it, however. Sensed the uneasiness in the quiet. The vulnerability beneath the confidence. 

The instincts were still there inside Abby, buried deep down inside. The urge to look after the one she cared for. The one who never asked for it, but needed it most. 

That was then, though. 

Not now. 

As Hope reluctantly allowed the staff to test her shoulder, Abby ducked her head, running her fingers through her short messy strands of hair. 

She never made the sprint back then. She knew about the pain, but even in the end, Hope was seen as standing alone. No one beside her. 

But, would she have crossed the distance, if given the chance? 

Would Hope have let her? 

Hope kept to herself. Didn’t allow anyone in. Most never got past the surface with her. Abby worked hard and whittled away little by little until Hope trusted her. 

That trust didn’t last. 

Not beyond their first attempt at a Cup together, at least. 

Yet, there was Kelley O’Hara, the young defender many equated to a manic squirrel, one of the friendliest and most outgoing of the team, huddled near the goalkeeper, eyes wide as the team staff jogged off the field and Hope flexed her hands as she ambled back to her line. The girl walked next to Hope, murmuring something and only stepping away when she received a nod. 

Their fingers brushed as Kelley returned to the defense, and the ref signaled for play to resume. 

The ball was soon arching through the air back towards Abby.


End file.
